THAT MARCH
March isnt just a month; its an annual test of mental endurance. Especially when your love life is as unpredictable as the English weather outside: is it spring, is it the apocalypse, or did someone just tip a vat of dull grey paint over the whole of Manchester?
The romance between Oliver and Alice began in March, which explained everything. Other couples met under waltzing cherry blossom showers, but these two came together when Oliver accidentally drenched Alice with a puddle on Deansgate. Rather than burst into tears, Alice expertly lobbed a melting snowball at the windscreen of his Ford, which, Oliver swore, concealed at least a brick.
It was love at first ricochet.
March in their city was a time when romance strutted the streets in wellies.
Want to go for a walk? Oliver whispered tenderly down the phone.
Do you have a boat? Alice responded reasonably.
Ill carry you piggyback.
Their dates felt more like SAS boot camp in swamp training. Oliver heroically ferried Alice across lakes of thawing grey slush, while she held a battered umbrella above him, fighting to keep it from flying toward Liverpool along with their hopes of dry feet.
You know, Oliver mused, squelching his right boot, this is where the depth of feeling truly shows. Were like those two ducks in the city park.
Ducks left for warmer climes back in October, Oliver. Right now, were two careless penguins who missed Antarctica entirely.
Their odd love revealed itself in tiny things. Deep feeling in March wasnt a ring dropped in champagne (which wouldve bobbed with an ice cube anyway), but a final sachet of Lemsip halved between them.
Here, Oliver announced solemnly, offering her half the yellow powder. Giving you a piece of my heart.
Whys it coated in cat fur?
Thats seasoning. For immunity.
Alice watched him in his ridiculous bobble hat, with a red nose and wild twinkling eyes and understood: this was it. The infamous code of the universe which glitched and linked two people capable of laughing while running a fever (which, according to tradition, for a man is practically a near-death experience).
The most romantic moment arrived at months end. At last, sunlight broke through, revealing all that winter had kept carefully covered. The city looked like a backdrop for a film about public works rising up.
They stood on a bridge. The wind howled at thirty miles an hour, threatening to tear Olivers jacket clean off.
Alice, he began, raising his voice above the buzz of spring, I wanted to say Youre like like the first snowdrop!
Pale and pushing up through the rubbish? Alice clarified, re-wrapping her scarf for the third time around her head.
Oliver hesitated.
No. Stubborn. Youre still here, despite this cursed March. Even after I dropped your phone in a snowbank that ended up being a puddle.
Alice looked at him, sneezed (synchronized with the passing tram), then burst out laughing.
All right, hero snowdrop. Lets head home. I bought a kilo of lemons and found a recipe for mulled wine. If we survive this Sunday, Ill officially declare our love a local landmark.
They walked on, dodging icebergs along the pavement. Their love was truly deep. Deep enough to reach their kneesexactly as much water as filled the blocks entryway. But it didnt matter. Because in that March, the important thing wasnt how clean your shoes were, but whose hand you clutched as you skidded into inevitable April
Another year ticked by. A new that March arrived. Manchester again transformed into a set for Waterworld filmed on the budget of a five-pence coin.
Oliver and Alice stood before a massive puddle swallowing their entire courtyard. Neighbours hugged fences, gingerly tiptoeing along slivers of ice, while one elderly fellow peered hopefully skyward, waiting for either a rescue helicopter or a dove with an olive twig.
Oliver, Alice eyed her pristine white trainers, bought in a bout of wild optimism. Were adults. We have a mortgage, jobs, and an annual report. We cant just
We can, Oliver interrupted. He pulled from behind his back, like a magician, a pair of bright yellow wellies with happy ducklings printed on them. Bought yesterday. Your size.
Alice sighed. This was the deep love the kind where your partner knows not just your shoe size but your capacity for cheerful degradation.
Five minutes later, they stood in the centre of the puddle. Water splashed merrily, sunlight bounced off dirty ice, and passersby watched them as if theyd escaped a very kind but very secure institution.
You know, Alice jumped, sending a spray of droplets onto the neighbour in his mink hat this is the best spring launch.
Code Yellow Duck, Oliver replied in mock seriousness. The universe tried to drown us in gloom, but our heels are waterproof.
There they stood, amid the chaos of springabsurd, damp, but completely in step. A quirky love, understood only by those who find the bottom where others see only mud.
Oliver pulled her close, and just then the sun warmed them so much that steam curled from their coats.
Were on fire, Alice remarked.
No, Oliver grinned. Weve finally reached the right temperature.
That March, they learned something vital: if life gives you puddlesbuy the brightest wellies, and learn to dance in them.
